


Rewind

by vyrantium



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Johnlock, M/M, You'll see what I mean, post-Reichenbach but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyrantium/pseuds/vyrantium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>What if you were given the chance to start over?</i><br/>John Watson finds himself at the beginning. But will he be able to save Sherlock Holmes, or will he never be able to save his friend from death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rewind

_April 24 – 312 Days After_

John Watson wakes up to his alarm clock blaring at 6:30 in the morning.

It’s late April of 2013. Summer is just around the corner and John hates it.  He hates the warm and he hates the sun and he especially hates the month of June.

The ex-army doctor pulls himself out of his small and uncomfortable bed in his run down flat that he could barely afford. He showers and dresses and heads to the surgery, just like every other day in his horrible life.

 

_May 19 – 337 Days After_

It was Sunday which meant another awkward dinner at Harry’s. John hated the dinners, but it was the only thing that kept Harry from drinking and it kept her from calling every weekend, which was worse than the going over every week.  John got to his sister’s house at the usual time, and went through the motions. Greeting and a hug, asking how she is, commenting that dinner smells delicious.  They eat in mostly silence, and afterwards watch whatever is on the television – tonight is a rerun of one of the _Doctor Who_ episodes from last August.  He used to love the show, but now he can barely watch it.  He remembers sitting on the couch with _him_ watching it, and barely hearing anything from the episode because _he_ kept commenting in how ridiculous and impossible the show is.  He stares at the screen, reliving the moment, and wishing more than everything that he could have those moments back.

_June 14 – 363 Days After_

It’s Friday and John hates the idea. He should decline, but it’s Greg, and he hasn’t seen him in months.  That’s how he finds himself at a strange pub far too close to a place he hates.  It’s still early but John wants to go home.  He sits with Greg and a few other people from The Yard, not really listening to their conversation, just laughing when everyone else laughs or offering a few words where it’s appropriate.  After an hour, John excuses himself, saying that he’s exhausted and needs to go home.  He smiles and says goodbye, the stumbles out to a cab.  Soon enough he’s in a cab and on his way home when he realizes what street they’re on.  He finds himself panicking, telling the driver to turn around and take a longer route, but it’s too late.  They’re driving past _it_ where _he_ jumped and John can’t help but stare and suddenly finds himself in a horrible flashback.  He’s standing on the ground looking up at _him_ on the rooftop and John’s saying words, trying to convince _him_ to come down and he’s saying that he loves _him_ (Which isn’t a lie, John had wanted to tell _him_ for so long but he never could find the words to do so) and then suddenly _he’s_ in the air and it’s too late too late _too late._

John snaps back into the present when the cab driver is saying they’ve arrived and is asking for payment.  He pays him and runs upstairs and it’s not until he’s in _his_ room lying on _his_ bed that he realizes he’s in 221B and not his own home.

 

_June 16 – 365 Days After_

John does not remember moving once in the past two days.  He only remembers _his_ bed and _his_ room and _his_ smell and _his_ clothes and _him him him_ ;John is absolutely drunk on _his_ things.  But somehow he finds his old gun in his hand and a note that reads _“I can’t do it anymore, not without him_ ” in the other, his phone set aside after he sent an _“I’m sorry”_ text to his sister.  It was cold and he was tired, and he was so relieved to know that the pain would soon be over.  Life without _him_ had been a terrible one.  John does not know how long he sat staring at the wall, but he knows that the final things he heard before a bullet went flying into his brain was a door being knocked in downstairs and a voice that sounded too much like _his_ yelling _“John!”_ and then the trigger was pulled and everything was over.

 

* * *

 

Bright light. High pitched ringing. Loud, very loud.  It’s cold. Too cold, he can’t feel anything. His eyes are squeezed shut and his hands fly to cover his ears.  He moves like he’s in molasses; he can’t get his hands to his ears quick enough. The ringing increases in pitch, hurting even more. Then everything is fading. Slowly at first, and then all at once. The ringing has stopped, and heat is returning. And then it’s hot, too hot. He’s sweating, clawing at something. He’s being held back by some cloth. He’s tearing at it, trying to get loose. It’s hot, he’s burning, he wishes for the numbing cold to come back, everything is black. He can’t see, he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t-

John jolts awake, tangled in the sheets in the bed he’s in.  He pushes himself into a sitting position, swearing and breathing hard. Looking around, he recognizes that he’s in the place he stayed after he was shot and before he moved in to 221B. Confused, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, only to cripple back onto the bed as pain shoots up his leg. He sighs, grabbing the cane resting on the bedside table. He’s about to stand up when he notices the calendar hanging on the wall beside his bed. It says its mid-January, of the year 2010.

Two weeks before he even met Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
